Angels Falling

by Harriet Carlton

  “You doing okay?” asked Baxter, interrupting Imorean’s thoughts.

  “Hmm? Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” replied Imorean, his attention returning to Baxter.

  Baxter took a heavy breath. “He misses them all, too. We all do and we’re all worried about Roxy. I miss Mandy a whole hell of a lot. And I know Ryan misses Dustin. They were close. This hasn’t been easy on any of us.”

  “I know,” sighed Imorean. “I want to go and see her, but Raphael told me I was just going to prolong the healing process for her.”

  “What are you going to do now? I mean, I’ve heard rumors Michael will be putting you in command of a platoon –”

  “Baxter, can we please not talk about it?” asked Imorean, his voice sharper than he had intended. “I’ve been over all of this with Michael. More times than I’d like. I’ve already told him that I don’t want a platoon. I don’t want to go over it again.”

  “Sure. I’m sorry, man,” said Baxter, lapsing back into silence.

  Imorean bit the inside of his cheek and paused. “No, I’m sorry, Baxter. I’m just … well, you know.”

  “I understand.”

  Imorean nodded and fell back into step beside Baxter. He didn’t want to think about what could happen next. Being in charge of a platoon would be worse than being in charge of a squad. Vortigern would have so much more room to inflict damage. It wasn’t a good idea. He furrowed his brow. Michael, the Chief Archangel, wanted him to step up into a new leadership position. And typically, what Michael wanted, he got.

  With a sigh, Imorean descended a few steps toward the wooden landing pad and opened his wings. Baxter was already perching on the very edge of the boardwalk, waiting to move toward The Main. Imorean quirked a small smile. Even if he didn’t want food, it would be nice to fly. A voice halted him before he could take off.

  “Imorean!”

  Imorean turned. He didn’t know whether to be pleasantly surprised or apprehensive. On the boardwalk, four green wings flared, was the Archangel Michael. Imorean stopped as Michael’s pale, green eyes rooted him to the spot, silently commanding him to stay where he was. Only a few weeks ago, Michael had been horribly injured by Vortigern and placed in a medical coma. Imorean had helped bring him back. Michael hadn’t been seen much since he had come out of his coma, so it was a relief to see Michael on his feet, moving, alive. Imorean knew, though, Michael would soon be expecting an answer regarding a squad or a platoon. An answer that could determine the lives of others.

  “What’s up?” asked Imorean, as Michael drew a few paces closer. Imorean could tell that his already-short brown hair had been trimmed back, cropped closer to his head. His four emerald wings were glistening. They had been oiled.

  “Good morning to both of you. I hope you are doing well, Baxter. Imorean, The Archangels are having a …” Michael’s sentence trailed off. Imorean raised one eyebrow, then narrowed his eyes. He resisted the urge to laugh drily as Michael looked him up and down, brows descending into a scowl.

  “The Archangels are having a meeting in an hour. It is in room 307 in Rawl, the history building. You need to attend.”

  “What was that look for?” asked Imorean, frowning and folding his arms.

  “Get dressed. Nicely,” said Michael. “I will not have you appearing in pajamas.”

  “Can I eat first?”

  Michael huffed and looked out onto the fjord. “If you must.”

  Imorean hopped up onto the railing next to Baxter and they took to the air. Cool thermals took hold of his wings and he grinned. Flying always made him feel happier. There was such a sense of freedom in the air. He adjusted as a small wave disrupted the surface of the fjord. It was a windy day and the water was choppy.

  Imorean laughed as Baxter nudged his wing and spoke, his voice so free and easy it was enviable. “Good to see that Grumpy Guts is back. For a while there, I thought he was going soft. What are you guys meeting about now?”

  “No doubt the upcoming mission,” he replied, blowing out a deep breath. He shuddered to think of it.

  “We’ve got another mission coming up?” asked Baxter, sounding shocked, yet hopeful at the same time. “You know what for yet?”

  “I’m not sure if I’m allowed to tell you that yet, Baxter,” said Imorean. “I’m sure I’ll know whether I’m allowed to or not after this. I mean, I don’t know if we’re even a squad anymore so …”

  “You don’t know if it’s any of our business?”

  Imorean looked away and sensed Baxter’s disappointment. There was no answer he could give. He realized with a jolt that he wasn’t the only one who missed being part of a cohesive squad.

  “You know, even Ryan wants you back,” said Baxter, tilting his dark wings to adjust for an eddy.

  “Really?” asked Imorean. He swooped down and sliced the primaries of his left wing through the water.

  “Uh, yeah, dude. He thinks you’re a good leader. He just likes to rag on you all the time. None of us want to be split up. We know each other so well now that I think we’d do better as a small group.”

  “Maybe,” sighed Imorean. He slowed his wingbeats. In his heart, there was a tremor of hesitation.

  “You don’t think it’ll work without Toddy, Mandy and Dustin, do you?”

  “I have my doubts,” replied Imorean. He would have shrugged, but flying and shrugging at the same time was more than difficult.

  “Well, that’s up to you. Just take that into consideration when you give Michael your answer about where you want to go and where you want everyone else to go, won’t you?”

  Imorean nodded. “Of course, I will.”

  He allowed Baxter to take the lead, and smiled. In spite of everything, in spite of losing three members of their team, everyone still wanted to be a part of it. Maybe there was hope for them.

  Chapter 3

  Imorean pushed open the door to Rawl’s room 307. He was the first to arrive. Despite lots of flying to and from The Terrace and The Main, he was still early. Before him was a simple conference room. A long table with eight swivel chairs around it. A table for eight. He remembered from his lectures, that in total, there had once been eight Archangels. Now, though, there were only seven. Four Upper Archangels and three Lower Archangels. So why was the table made for eight? Imorean darted a glance around, then shrugged his shoulders. For now, he was alone. He crossed the room and sat down in one of the chairs, shuffling his wings so they were more comfortable. After some debate, Imorean had heeded Michael’s order to dress nicely. He was wearing a white, collared shirt and a pair of black trousers. He only hoped that no one noticed his lack of dress shoes. He yawned, bored, and spun his chair quickly.

  “Imorean,” said a voice from the doorway.

  Imorean stopped sharply and spun his chair back to face the door. Michael was standing in the doorway, frowning. His pale eyes were unreadable. Behind Michael were six other angels. Imorean paused. Six plus Michael. Seven. That had to mean that all the Archangels were here.

  “I was just commenting to the rest of the Archangels what an impressive, young individual you are.”

  Imorean offered Michael an embarrassed smile and stood up. Michael walked into the room and stopped at the head of the table. The other six angels filed in behind him, taking up their places at the table. Imorean looked around at them from his position at Michael’s left. For a change, Gabriel looked serious as he took up a position at Michael’s right hand. Imorean smiled slightly. It never failed to amaze him how similar Michael and Gabriel were when they stood next to each other. They were twins. Nearly identical. One of the only physical differences between them were their eyes. Where Michael’s were green, Gabriel’s were hazel.

  After the twin Archangels, came Raphael. There was a tiredness in Raphael’s eyes that Imorean couldn’t help noticing. Even his gait, normally quick and energetic, was slowed. Movement by the door drew Imorean’s attention away from Raphael. Tension snapped up his back. The Archangel Uriel made his way into the room. Pale s
kinned and dark featured, Uriel hadn’t changed outwardly at all. Imorean still remembered the sting of Uriel’s sword as it cut through the skin on his back. There was a strange aura surrounding Uriel now, and, as he sat down beside Gabriel, Imorean found himself under a vacant stare, devoid of any acknowledgement. A strange haze hung around those dark eyes. Did Uriel not recognize him? Imorean darted a glance at Michael. They locked eyes and Imorean shivered as a voice that was not his own cut across his consciousness.

  “Relax and take a seat.”

  Imorean rubbed one of his ears and sat. Even now, after having been mentally connected with Michael for months, it was sometimes easy to forget that they were able to communicate so easily without words. Despite the connection’s usefulness, Imorean was glad that Michael didn’t use it as often as he used to. It still felt invasive.

  Turning his head, Imorean glared at Uriel in disgust, remembering all too well that the last time he had seen him, Uriel had been trying to murder him. Imorean looked at Gabriel rather than Michael, hoping for a proper explanation. Wasn’t Uriel supposed to be in heaven? As in, a decent distance away from him.

  “Official pardon,” said Gabriel. “And a special anti-possession team worked on him, which is why he looks so tweaked.”

  Imorean nodded and looked away from Uriel. He felt sick when he looked at him. Keeping his movements as subtle as possible, he moved his chair a few inches closer to the head of the table. Away from Uriel.

  Three more angels filled in the spots around the table. Two of them looked similar, both with dark complexions and brown hair. At first glance, they looked like twins, but as Imorean looked, he spotted a few slight differences. The first of them was tall, handsome and seemed to have a presence about him that was both seen and heard. His eyes were dark and intelligent, vibrant under brown hair which seemed to have been paled by the sun. The second was smaller, finer and less striking, but there was a sense of calmness to him that the first did not have. His hair was darker and his eyes paler, as though he spent less time outside.

  Imorean cringed inwardly when he realized that he couldn’t remember their names. Not either of them. He should remember them from his classes. The pair sat and Imorean looked further down the table. One more Archangel. Imorean froze. The final Archangel was sitting at the far end of the table. He had sandy, blond hair and piercing blue eyes, like the glare itself could cut the air. Anger lingered behind those icy eyes. Jealous and resentful.

  “Welcome back to Upper Morvine, Brothers,” said Michael, drawing the attention of all the angels at the table. Imorean was glad of the interruption. “Now that we are all here, I would like to introduce someone to those of you that may not know him. Imorean, please stand up again.”

  Imorean did as he was told and looked around the table, offering the broadest smile he could muster. It wasn’t much. Smiling hadn’t been coming easily to him.

  “Imorean, these are all of the Archangels. Raphael, Gabriel and I you already know. Uriel you are unfortunately familiar with. The two sitting across from each other are Raguel and Remiel. Raguel can typically be found somewhere in the field, normally doing something he is not supposed to be doing. He is, however, one of our best special team leaders. Remiel is our best soloist. We actually pulled him in to run Gracepointe and Upper Morvine for a short time over this past semester. The one sitting down there sulking on his own is Sariel.”

  “Good to meet all of you,” said Imorean, smiling at them.

  “So, you’re the one Michael’s been prattling about,” said one of the brown-haired Archangels. Raguel. Imorean smiled. Raguel’s voice fitted his outward appearance. Loud and spoken with a smile.

  Michael sank down into his chair and fixed the younger Archangel with a glare. “I do not ‘prattle’, Raguel.”

  Imorean couldn’t help but smile sadly as Raguel and Remiel exchanged grins. He was reminded of Dustin and Toddy – they even looked similar. Even though Imorean knew that the two Archangels were thousands of years old, they didn’t seem much older than twenty-two.

  “Good to have you on board, Imorean,” said Raguel, turning back to the table. “I look forward to working with you. And even though he’d never say it because he never says much, Remiel does, too.”

  Imorean darted a glance at Remiel, who rolled his eyes good-naturedly, but said nothing.

  “Thank you,” replied Imorean, sitting down. He felt an immediate liking to both Raguel and Remiel.

  “I’m sorry, but, Michael,” said the blond angel, leaning forward.

  “Yes, Sariel?” asked Michael, not looking up from the papers he was poring over. There was an edge to his voice that Imorean knew all too well. Impatience. Perhaps even a little annoyance.

  “What is he doing here?” asked Sariel.

  Imorean turned sharply to look at Sariel, whose eyes narrowed like a viper’s.

  “Imorean is the newest member of the Archangel Company,” replied Michael, looking up. His voice was calm, but Imorean noticed a dangerous slant to Michael’s eyes.

  Sariel snorted. “But he’s human? He’s a child?”

  Imorean opened his mouth to snap a reply, but someone kicked his shins under the table. He looked across the table at Gabriel, who gave him an almost imperceptible head shake. He closed his mouth.

  “As one could argue that you are also a child,” replied Michael, folding his hands beneath his chin. There was a tiny shake as two of Michael’s four wings twitched and the windows shuddered in their frames. A flinch rippled around the table.

  “Let’s get the meeting moving, shall we?” asked Gabriel, glancing at Sariel.

  “Yes,” agreed Michael. “As some of you already know, Imorean is the newest of all the Archangels. To summarize the briefing I gave you a few months ago, I ingrained a small portion of my own genetics into him. He is young, but he is learning fast and I believe that he has potential. he has already learned telepathic communication and has had a small amount of experience manipulating the astral plane, as he did when he pulled me from my coma, partly due to the tightness of natural bond that we share. He has already done unsupervised work in the field and has commanded a squad of seven other hybrids for the last semester. While he is partially human, Gabriel, Raphael and I have concluded he is indeed more Archangel than he is human. Due to the combination of not one, but two strands of Archangel genetics, Imorean will now be taking the place of former Upper Archangel Inmerael.”

  “What!” snarled Sariel, standing and slamming his hands on the table. There was a collective cringe. Wings shuffled, awkward, and none of the Archangels looked at Michael. Imorean could practically taste the tension. It set him on edge. He wanted to leave the room, but he was one of the furthest occupants from the door.

  “Apparently one of you did not know,” Michael said, his voice too calm. “Perhaps I was breaking protocol by making the decision on my own to bring Imorean into our company. However, I feel it is the right choice to make.”

  “He’s a human brat,” growled Sariel. “How can he take the place of one of us?”

  “Hey!” snapped Imorean, turning to glare at Sariel.

  “Quiet,” said Michael in a low voice. Imorean swallowed and tentatively glanced at Michael. There was an angry, yet peaceful expression on his face.

  “Sariel, sit and be still,” said Michael softly, turning his hand with a flourish.

  Sariel dropped back to his seat, his mouth snapping shut, and swallowed. Imorean watched him stiffen and purse his lips as though trying to speak, but his mouth didn’t seem to work.

  Raguel grinned. “I like it. Can we keep him like this?”

  “Seems like an improvement,” said Imorean, meeting Raguel’s eyes over the table. There was an infectious quality to his smile.

  The corner of Michael’s mouth twitched up. “If we might get to business. With the addition of Imorean to our company, we now have five Upper Archangels, bringing our total to eight. While nine is our preferable number, eight is still very strong. With this, w
e are ready to initiate the second phase of our plan to regain firmer control over the Earth. We must track down five objects that will help us bar the hell rift in Antarctica. Luckily, Antarctica is angel occupied territory, so getting there will be little trouble.”

  Raguel leaned forward. He was suddenly serious. “Antarctica?”

  “Mount Erebus, Antarctica,” nodded Michael. “Why do you think we constructed Sunderholm in such an isolated location?”

  “Oh, Father. I should have known that Sunderholm wasn’t just a new base location,” huffed Raguel.

  Michael glared, turning his eyes on Raguel. “Language.”

  “Sorry,” said Imorean, glancing between Michael and Raguel. “But Sunderholm?”

  “Sunderholm is our new Antarctic stronghold, Imorean. Your plan, Michael?” asked Raphael, adjusting his glasses.

  “Yes,” said Michael, looking down at his papers. “We need five items to match the number of the five Upper Archangels. When we have retrieved these items, five of us will go to Antarctica and conduct the last part of our mission down there. This will involve us breaching hell and nearly entering the place itself, to shut this gate at its source. The other three of you will be posted either here at Upper Morvine or at the Pearly Gates, to ensure the safety of the students. Bear in mind, as we grow closer to our end goal, these plans are subject to change.”

  “Is Imorean going?” asked Sariel, able to talk once again.

  “Sariel,” said Raphael. Imorean was taken aback by Raphael’s voice. He had never heard aggression in it before. “Hold your tongue.”

  “No, I want to know,” snapped Sariel.

  Michael tapped his fingers on the table. “Sariel, the five Upper Archangels and a group of specially chosen angels will make the trip to Antarctica. Imorean is one of the Upper Archangels.”

  “So, you’re taking the brat with you?”

  Imorean sneered at him as Sariel shot him another angry glare. From the corner of his eye, he saw Michael fold his hands together and sit back in his chair, a pensive frown on his face. One of Imorean’s wings twitched as he caught Michael’s eyes and heard his voice inside his head.